


I don't want to go

by hubblestars



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblestars/pseuds/hubblestars
Summary: “Stay for a bit longer?” Rose asks, and The Doctor knows she’s not asking about Christmas Eve, not really.





	I don't want to go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UntemperedWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UntemperedWolf/gifts).



> a v short + rough fic for my princess<3 merry christmas!!

The Doctor looks down at the warm mug clasped tightly between his fingertips; he blows soft whisps of steam from his hot chocolate, and breaths in the smell of cocoa that mingles with the scent of whiskey and perfume in the Tyler house. When he looks up from the mug, he catches Rose smiling at him from the sofa. Cross legged and strangely vulnerable at the feet of an overpowering Christmas Tree, The Doctor smiles back.

_ I’m going soft,  _ he thinks, when Rose’s smile widens to one of her pretty, toothy grins. She’d asked him outside of the TARDIS if he’d stay for Christmas - just for a bit, Rose had said, stuffing her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat. Somehow, looking down at her hopeful face, he hadn’t been able to refuse, and the afternoon had ended in a snowball fight with Jackie and Rose. There was snow in the hood of Rose’s coat and in the sleeves of The Doctor’s leather jacket and tucked inside Jackie’s boots. They’d stumbled inside with numb, trembling fingertips to seek blankets and the boiling kettle.

Looking back on the afternoon, The Doctor marvels at how quickly he forgets himself around Rose. How strange to laugh at Jackie’s gossip, to throw back his head and let laughter bubble in his throat; how odd to let Jackie drag him around the house by his shoulders, while Rose giggles mercilessly behind him. He’d seen so many sides of human beings: their pain, their fury, their compassion. But rarely had he let himself look behind the scenes. There was danger in fitting himself into the warmth of his companion’s homes, because one day he’d have to walk out of the door and never come back. So when had he so easily become a part of Rose Tyler’s living room? He doesn’t belong there. He doesn’t belong on Earth.

A film is buzzing quietly away on the television, but the sounds of Home Alone are muffled by Rose’s storytelling. The Doctor only half listens. He can hear her talking about some alien planet, a narrow escape from perilous danger; if he looks away from her and into the darkening white sky he can almost feel the adrenaline of that adventure, and the feeling of Rose’s hand tucked quietly in his own as they ran. Rose’s face sparkles, her expressions shifting with the rises and falls of the tale, and even staring into her flushed, open face, The Doctor feels like an intruder to his own story.

The Doctor doesn’t want to think about a life where he isn’t a timelord, but the images come to him anyway. He can almost see himself tucked beside Rose on the sofa, their thighs pressed together. Can almost imagine the Christmas Dinners, knives and forks clinking as he talked through mouthfuls of mash with Rose and Jackie like a family might. The Doctor hasn’t had a family in centuries - it feels pointless to hope for one now. And yet wrapped in a blanket gazing at Rose like any human being with a crush might, The Doctor can’t help but wonder what life would be like if only all of it was possible.

_ I don’t want to go,  _ The Doctor thinks, even as he stands in silence and places his mug on the coffee table. The blanket falls from his knees into a pile around his feet and slowly, quietly, he simply slips away from the room. The door just clicks closed behind him, and then all he has to do is grab his jacket from the kitchen and leave until a couple of days later, when he can whisk Rose away in the TARDIS and pretend Christmas Eve never happened.

And yet.

His leather jacket is still wet from the snowball fight, and Rose’s coat lies just next to it on the back of the chair. Rose’s hat, The Doctor remembers, as he runs his fingers along the fluffy hood of her coat, had fallen off when she’d ducked to throw more snowballs, her hair falling in waves over her face. When they were all fed up, Rose had slipped her gloved hand in The Doctor’s and grinned up at him.  _ I win,  _ she’d declared cheekily, the top of her hair covered in white flakes of snow, and The Doctor had felt giddy with happiness. He’d tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear before he’d remembered the role he was meant to play to protect them.

“Leaving so soon, Doctor?” Rose drawls. The Doctor looks up to find her leaning in the doorway in pyjamas, her hair slightly messy. Her cheeks are still pink from the cold. He wants to find the universe where he can press his hands to her cheeks and run his thumb across the red splotches without a care in the world.

There are so many ways The Doctor could respond, so many practised answers and easy jokes.  _ I’m not who she thinks I am,  _ The Doctor thinks, not for the first time. A hero, a clown, a genius; he fits into these titles that Rose loves with a grin, with unquestionable ease, but when it comes down to it he’s simply scared and lonely. The fake laughter is on the tip of his tongue, in the curve of his mouth, he’s ready to pretend-

“I don’t want to go.” He says instead, because it’s  _ Rose _ . 

The vulnerability tastes bitter on his tongue, honesty a hard lump in his throat, but Rose just shrugs and opens her arms with the kindness and compassion that The Doctor has come to expect from her. He lets Rose hug him - lets her circle her arms around his back, lets her tuck her face into the curve of his shoulder. It is difficult to put up a fight when he’s surrounded by falling snow and Rose’s perfume, which smells vaguely like vanilla and cookies.

“Then don’t.” Rose says, when she pulls away.  _ It’s never going to be that simple, _ The Doctor thinks, even as a playful smile starts to rise in his cheeks. He picks her up and twirls her in a fit of affection. When he sets her down, Rose grins and glances up into the kitchen doorway, where mistletoe hangs gently, swaying above their heads.

“A human thing.” She explains, and The Doctor narrows his eyebrows like he’s completely clueless.

“What, that parasite?” 

Rose only laughs, a glorious, effortless sound. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss The Doctor’s cheek. It’s a ghost of a feeling on his skin - a quiet press of lip gloss, the soft tickle of her hair against his chin, and then nothing.

“Stay for a bit longer?” Rose asks, and The Doctor knows she’s not asking about Christmas Eve, not really. He’s helpless to refuse when she tilts her head and grins with her tongue between her teeth, can’t say anything but yes when her hand is warm on his arm. He’s fallen too hard, let his heart get the best of his cynical brain like it so often did - he wants to stay here for a little longer, cloaked in the joy and affection of Rose Tyler, because he can’t imagine himself anywhere else in the entire universe.

“I suppose I can’t miss the rest of House Alone.” The Doctor says carefully. It’s a bad idea - a dreadfully, awfully bad idea. But Rose’s positive, hopeful spirit is all around him, tucked into the darkest, harshest parts of him, and he wants to live in it for as long as he can.

“Come on, then.” Rose says, brightly. “And for the record, it’s home alone.”

“Humans.” The Doctor grumbles, but he smiles to himself, content in the home that he’d somehow found the moment he’d met Rose Tyler. When they’re back in the living room, and she pulls a santa hat over his head, The Doctor knows that he doesn't want to leave her, this room, not now, not ever. 

Or perhaps, The Doctor thinks, when she laughs so hard at Jackie’s joke that tears are streaming down her face, he shouldn't worry. Because even if he wants to leave, even if he flies away in the TARDIS like he had so many companions before, Rose Tyler won’t ever let him go.


End file.
